#it don't usually happen like this LOL

[keulixeutin]

Breathless

a/n: my plane experience didn’t quite go like this.  would’ve been nice, though.  hope it makes sense, and hope y’all enjoy!  summary: a stranger helps ground you when you feel trapped on a plane. bakugou x reader.  she/her pronouns.  cw: claustrophobia attack, panic attack, anxiety, nausea (no vomiting), fluff, just bakugou doing the best he can. au, but no powers are mentioned so u can pretend its canon if u want lol.  word count: 4,258 words

You jerked awake, suddenly feeling odd.  

There was something—off.  

You didn’t feel right, but you couldn’t pick up on the reason why.  There was an uncomfortable sense of dread growing in the pit of your stomach, spreading throughout the rest of your body. Your hands were clammy; your skin felt sensitive; you were jittery in ways you hadn’t been before, and you couldn’t put a finger on why.

You looked around the plane.  It was dark; most of the passengers had their window shutters closed against the blinding afternoon light.  Many of them were dozed off, too.  You wondered if anyone else felt this—unnerved.

You were sitting in the back of the large plane, sandwiched tightly between the window and the man beside you.  You felt more cramped than you remember feeling in previous plane rides.  You normally handled them well, so what was happening now?  Was this plane somehow more narrow than others?  Was it more narrow in the back?  Did this man with his wild hair and impossibly wide shoulders really have to put his elbow so far across the arm rest into your space?

No, no, that wasn’t fair.  It was tight for everyone.  This uncomfortable feeling—you just needed to stretch.  Just need to shift a little, like a cat circling a spot three times before settling down to sleep.

You straightened your back, trying to soothe out the knots and kinks and pop it.  It didn’t work, didn’t pop and didn’t help.  The odd feeling lingered—intensifying even—no.  No, it wasn’t intensifying, because intensifying would be bad.  It was just there.  It was just uncomfortable.  Disagreeable—yes.  That was a good word, a calm and collected word, a not-too-negative word to describe your situation.  Once you found an agreeable position, you would easily fall back to sleep and bypass the last couple hours, you thought to yourself. 

Optimistic, you leaned against the window.

Then, you leaned back into the chair, folding your arms, hyper aware of his elbow still past the invisible line.

Then, you unlocked the table from the seat in front of you to try and rest your head on it, but you realized that there wasn’t much space for you to curl your back, so you pushed it back up, locked it, and sat, staring at the seat in front of you that began to recline back, toward you.

It was so tight here.  So confined.  You felt restricted.  You felt—

—Trapped.

You felt trapped.

As soon as that thought crossed your mind, you clearly felt the weighted dread on your chest, the difficulty swallowing, the starting heat.

It was a lack of air.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

It wasn’t discomfort; it wasn’t disagreeable.  It was suffocating.  

You couldn’t breathe.

Instead of finding a comfortable position, you found that you were possibly—probably—very definitely having a claustrophobia attack.  

You felt yourself starting to panic.  This was new to you.  You usually flew so easily; sometimes, it got tight, but you never felt stuck.  Sometimes you ached, but you never felt nauseous.  

You closed your eyes, imagining that you were in a car driving through grassy plains, imagining beautiful wildflowers of all types of colors.  The sun was bright, as bright as the tall sunflowers that greeted you as you stared out the passenger window.  

Okay, okay, you thought.  This was doable.  You could do this.  You could manage two (and a half) more hours doing this.

The plane shifted suddenly—slight turbulence—and that was all your brain needed to go into overdrive.  The grassy plains in your imagination suddenly got taller, bigger, growing wildly to eclipse the flowers, the sky, the path, boxing you in, trapping your car—and then the car suddenly wasn’t a car, but a metal box getting smaller and smaller and darker and tighter and—

Your eyes shot open, breaths coming out in short, tiny pants.

You were dangerously hyperaware of all movement and spacing around you, how everyone seemed to take up so much space, how they seemed to take up so much of your space, the elbow crossing the arm rest, the reclining seat in front of you, the child accidentally kicking the back of your chair.  Your nausea was building, your chest was burning, your vision was darkening—shit, shit, shit, what were you going to do—what were you going to do?

“Hey.  You alright?”

You turned to the man beside you, the one whose elbow was two centimeters too far over the invisible line, and logically you knew that it was illogical, but with the way your breaths came out shallow and desperate, with the way your heart was trying to claw its way out of the heat behind your diaphragm as though there were a fire starting behind your ribs, under your skin, it only seemed right and helpful and sane to blame him.

He seemed to see something on your face.  His red eyes narrowed at you.  Maybe he saw the terror.  Maybe he saw the flames.

“I have to get up,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite your intense need to double over and cry and throw up and pass out, in whatever order gave you the most relief.  “Please.  Please, I n-need to get up.”

Without hesitation, the stranger woke up the woman in the aisle seat.  Instead of stand up, she stayed seated, twisting her body and moving her legs to the side, expecting the two of you to squeeze through, but the man hissed out an aggravated, “Move your ass, lady!”  She scrambled to her feet with a huff.

You all but fell into the aisle, feet trying to find ground beneath you, but you were furiously aware that nothing was solid ground, that you were in the sky in a metal bin, and it wasn’t the fall that frightened you but the walls, how they wouldn’t expand, and the people, how they could only expand, only take up more space, more oxygen.  

So close to the back of the plane, your eyes caught the back room where the flight attendants sat.  It was empty, though,  so you quickly rushed to the back, trying not to frighten people with your heaving so loud in your ear as you gripped the wall and turned the corner, slowly falling to your knees.

You swallowed a gasping breath—one, two, then another, more.  The darkness that had been dotting your vision was fading.  The space here wasn’t much; you wouldn’t be able to stretch out your legs without leaning against the emergency exit (which you absolutely weren’t going to do), but the fact that you weren’t pressed up against a hard shoulder and a shuttered window was already relieving some weight off your shoulders, extinguishing some of the flames from your chest.

“You need water?”  Same gruff voice—same gruff scowl.

He was crouched in the aisle, peering at you from the entrance.  You were vaguely aware that, though he couldn’t tell his elbow had been encroaching your space, he was mindful of not crowding you here and not hovering over you with his size and height.

You nodded.  He disappeared.  You hazily remembered the flight attendants were pushing their drink cart at the front of the plane.  When he came back, he handed you a cup and sat down on the other side of the little space, legs tucked against his chest.

“Thanks,” you said.  The nausea was still bubbling in your stomach; you didn’t want to give it fuel, so you took tiny sips.  “Y-you can go back,” you told him.  “I should be okay now.”

“It’s fine—I’ll stay.”  He was still scowling, eyebrows furrowed in sharp, angry angles, but there had been a softness in the red of his eyes when he had seen you gasping beside him, when you had asked him to let you through.  “Lean back and keep your chest open,” he said.  “Stop hunching.”  

You slowly adjusted your posture. 

“Good.  Fix your breathing; you’re on the fucking verge of hyperventilating.  In through your nose and out through your mouth to slow down.  Three or four counts.  Whatever you can manage.”

You didn’t realize that you had still been gasping for air.  The initial panic had subsided as soon as you sat down in this open space (open being extremely relative), but you could still feel the anxiousness on the edge of your skin, as though it were lingering smoke, or embers ready to reignite. 

You crossed your legs, tilted your head back, and rested your hands on your knees to ensure that your shoulders didn’t shift back into a cowering hunch.  You closed your eyes, counted three as you inhaled through your nose, counting again as you exhaled through your mouth.

“Good,” you heard him say again.

Good, you thought.

In—out.

In—out.

In—

The plane shook suddenly.  It wasn’t an abnormal shake, just a small, tiny piece of turbulence that was to be expected at that height, but in your delicate and frazzled state, it felt as though you were minutes from the door and ceiling collapsing on top of you, seconds from your breath being taken away.  

You choked out a gasp—

“You’re fine.”  

No, he couldn’t know that, he—

“Hey—look at me.”  

You felt a grip on your left hand that rested on your knee.  You opened your eyes; he was glaring at you—no, he was looking.  Brows sharp.  Angular.  Crimson eyes fierce—intense—but not knife-like.  Not jagged.  Not cruel.

“It’s mild turbulence,” he said.  He squeezed your hand once.

You swallowed a nervous lump.  Your mouth was dry.  Your throat hurt.

“I’m telling you, you’re fine.  You need to keep breathing,” he said, then adding, “slowly,” as though you had forgotten (how could you forget?).

You tilted your head back.  

“Come on—inhale, one…two…three…four… Good.”  

Good, you thought.

“Again—one, two, three, four.  That’s it.”

He squeezed your hand a second time.

He was—odd.  And fucking rude.  You thought people were supposed to be more compassionate in these situations, empathy coloring all their movements, expressions, and voices, but this stranger was sharp, brusque, all angles and hard lines.  

And yet—there was an unusual and unexpected sense of reassurance in his terse honesty, in the tight grip of his hand, in the callouses that brushed against your knuckles every time he shifted and squeezed.  There was an inexplicable comfort in his curtness, in his hard angles, like you could touch him and your fingers wouldn’t sink; and there was something pleasant about holding someone and knowing that they had a weight to them, a structure, a frame that wouldn’t bend or break or flatten.  You felt like you could trust him to tell you without falsities or sweetness whether the plane was landing safely or exploding wildly.  You felt like he’d find space for you in his diaphragm in the fire, in the fall, like he’d give you the air from his own lungs if that was what it took.  You didn’t know why you thought this, or what about him said this, but you held onto that thought with clenched hands and clenched jaws.

It helped you settle against the makeshift wall behind you, made of the flight attendant’s folded seat.  There was still a curling ball in the pit of your stomach, but at least the air was coming in deep and leaving slow, unobstructed.

“How do you feel?” he asked; a question that was normally laced with concern was colored coarse.

“Better,” you answered quietly.

You felt a tender loss as he released his hand and shifted back to his end.  A silence settled between the two of you as you both listened to your breathing.

After a few minutes, he asked, “This happen often?”

You shook your head.

“No medication then?  Sedative, anti-anxiety?’

“No,” you said, shaking your head again.  “This is the first time.”  You would’ve laughed incredulously if you didn’t feel like every energy was being used to keep your chest open and not on fire.

You thought back to the past several weeks, leading up to this trip to visit your friends on the coast.  You thought about the stress from work, the deadlines you couldn’t miss and the projects you couldn’t disregard, your calendar piled on and crammed with events and hang-outs to try and please everyone’s desire to see you, the way you forced yourself to clean the apartment at 1 AM because you couldn’t stand the mess, and then sleep at 3 AM because you had to decompress, and then wake at 7 AM to shower and get dressed, starting all over again.  All of it finally caught up with you in the tiny back of this tremendous plane.

The flight attendant suddenly peered in.  “Is everything okay?”  she asked, looking between you and the stranger.  Her frown seemed to imply that she had initially thought something lewd was happening, but then she noted that you were sitting separately and still straining to keep from boiling over.  Her frown softened.  “Are you okay to go back to your seats?   You can’t really be back here, and the seatbelt light is on.  I can get you more water if needed, ma’am.”

Before any type of panic could bubble in your chest, before the words even had the time to linger in the air with her breath, the frenzy-haired and red-eyed stranger interrupted, saying, “She’s trying to catch her breath.  Give us ten minutes and then we’ll head back."

The flight attendant looked hesitant, but another look at you made her acquiesce.  “I’m sorry.  I can only give you five minutes; we’re almost done passing out drinks and the cart has to come back here, okay?” she said.  Then, turning to you, she asked, “Do you want more water?” 

What you wanted was for her to give you a break.

“No,” he said.

She looked to him, maybe confused as to why he was answering, maybe concerned as to why he was so rough, but she didn’t say anything else and disappeared down the aisle.  You relaxed the best you could against the hard wall, grateful for his gruffness, and murmured your thanks.

“It’s whatever.”

You sat back in silence, focusing on breathing.  You didn’t try to imagine anything.  You just counted.  You almost asked to hold his hand again, but then the flight attendant came back too soon and you were forced to get up.

The walk back to your seat was painful, each step rekindling the embers in your chest.  You took your seat, feeling the dread as a lump in your throat that, when you swallowed, sat in your stomach with a gravity you didn’t think you could keep contained.

“Hey,” the stranger said, catching your attention.  “You got anything to keep occupied?  Fidget spinner?  Games?”

You shook your head hesitantly, feeling small, feeling stuck, feeling tr—

“Focus on me, dumbass.  No games?  No portable consoles?  Like a DS?”

You sighed shakily, trying to focus your unfocusing eyes.  “I know what consoles are. I brought a book and my laptop, and I promise you, I will upchuck if I read right now.”

“Tch.”

He pulled his dark red backpack out from under the seat and rifled through it.  He took out a Nintendo Switch, turned it on, and shoved it into your hands.

“Here.  Play,” he ordered.  He didn’t explain the rules, just plugged in the earbuds, tucked both into your ears, skipped the wordy intro, and then watched you maneuver your character and die.  A lot.  He swore a lot, too, and you found that listening to his harsh mutterings was better than listening to the game’s soundtrack.  You tugged the earbuds off, letting yourself be distracted by his game and his voice.

You felt okay for a moment, whispering back to him—

“This is hard.”

“You’re just ass at it.”

—thinking that you could spend the rest of the flight like this, not relaxed but just okay.

And then the plane shuddered and your stomach clenched and your vision was wobbly, and he was too close to you, the game was too much in your hands, just another thing taking space, and you had to drop it into your lap or you were going to be so nauseous.  You gripped onto the seat in front of you, aware that you were encroaching on the passenger’s space but not finding it in you to care.  You fought the desperate urge to clamber out of your seat and crawl toward the back, quickly forgetting why you even needed to fight it.

“Chest open.”

You were vaguely aware that you were nodding, vaguely aware that he had shifted back from you as far as the seats would allow, even to the point where he was invading the aisle woman’s space, but it didn’t seem like he cared either.

“Keep the count,” he told you.  “You want to sit in the bathroom?”

You shook your head.

“Then you gotta sit fucking straighter than that.”  There was no fire behind his words.  You wondered if swearing was just part of his everyday vocabulary.  He gently grasped your shoulder, touched your back, helped you sit up with your chest up and shoulders back.  You closed your eyes, counting, counting, breathing.  

It felt like there was a blazing in your chest, like something ready to ignite, something trying to—and it felt like you were trying to cover it with just your body, just your small diaphragm, just the little bones of your ribs.  How could so much heaviness, so much fire, fit behind the smallest bones, you wondered.

He must’ve noticed you squeezing your knees, because you felt his hard hand grasp the back of your soft knuckles.  Another hand gently massaged the back of your neck.

“You’re alright,” he said.  “You’ll be fine.  Keep breathing.”  His hand dipped to your shoulders, moved up and down your back, heavy fingers pressing against knotted muscle, blunt nails scratching at clammy, stiff skin.  “Good?” he asked.

You nodded, appreciative of the touch, of a different type of pressure on your body.  Good.

“Focus on my voice.  Just keep breathing.”

“—W-why—” you gasped out softly.

“Why keep breathing?”  He looked like he was restraining himself from yelling.  There was a pulsing vein in his forehead, visible even in the dim light, that would’ve made you smile, that would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t so busy trying to rework your lungs.

“No—why h-help?”

He frowned.  “Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

What a bizarre response, you thought.  What a perfect one, for someone whose scowl didn’t quite match his red eyes.

You flipped your palm over, interlaced your fingers through his, and held tightly.  His thumb rubbed circles into the back of your hand.  The callouses right beneath his fingers were dry and cutting.  His hand and hold felt honest.  He murmured encouragingly, the same few lines in the same low tone, choppy and curt, on repeat like he didn’t know what else to say.  His hand on your back was similar.  Sometimes he massaged too hard; sometimes he scratched too light. A clumsy and sweet effort.

You closed your eyes, fighting the mismatched breathing, counting your breaths, counting the seconds, and then counting the circles he drew against your skin and the times he gripped your shoulder, the hold slowly grounding you.

You were on the edge—but you were tied to a lifeline.  Your toes hovered over the black space right past the threshold, but you wouldn’t fall—you wouldn’t fall—you wouldn’t fall.  You weren’t comfortable—but you were okay.

You leaned against the shuttered window, and fell into a light and jerky sleep.  Whenever you felt yourself fall too deep, though, you were wracked with an immediate and sudden fear.  You’d shoot awake, panting, gasping, but he’d squeeze your hand tight, murmuring the same comforting and clumsy words until you settled down—“In through your nose, idiot.  How many times I gotta tell ya?  Good, good, just like that.”

Good, you thought.

It was the same pattern every five, maybe ten minutes.  You didn’t fall asleep for long, the nerves always working you up to a dreadful jerk awake, even if there wasn’t any turbulence.  But he squeezed your hand every time, with a scowl that didn’t meet his eyes, and he’d repeat the words again and again, like a chorus, like a mantra, like a prayer, one you held onto fiercely as you hovered over the edge for the rest of the flight.

&&

The jostling of the plane landing was what woke you up next.  Rather than a panicked gasp, your eyes fluttered open, feeling an ache in your neck and a weight on your head.  The seat before you was crooked—no, you were crooked.  Your head was tilted, resting on the stranger’s shoulders—and his head was rested on yours.   In your lap was his Switch—and the both of your hands, still intertwined.

You smiled and took in a deep and unimpeded breath of stale plane air.

You touched his shoulder tenderly.  “Wake up,” you said.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

“We’ve landed,” you said, pulling your fingers out of his warm hold and watching how his hand twitched in your direction, as if chasing your grasp.

He sat up, eyes groggy.  He tried to stretch his arms, immediately hitting the top of the aircraft cabin with an annoyed growl.  You wondered if he ever had claustrophobia attacks.  His frame was so large; how could he move through this world without feeling enclosed, encaged in every room he stepped in?

He caught your eyes staring.

“You good?” he asked, voice surly and shaded with sleep still.

“Good,” you said.  “Thanks to you.”

You watched everyone get up before you, thinking that it’d be easier to let the fast-paced crowd hasten toward the exit first.  The man sat with you; you shouldn’t have been surprised, but you were.  He seemed like the go-go-go type.

When it was finally your turn, the stranger stepped out, slung his backpack over his shoulders, and grabbed his black suitcase from the overhead compartments. 

“Which one’s yours?” he asked.

You pointed to the dark mauve, plastic one behind him.

Without another word, he pulled it out and set it down; his biceps flexed under the weight.  He let you leave first with your backpack over your shoulders and his Switch against your chest, with him following behind, easily rolling both suitcases down the aisle.

When the two of you exited the gate, you pulled off to the side, relieved to be back on solid ground—but a little disappointed, you found, to be leaving him.

“I really appreciate everything,” you said, giving back his Switch.  “I don’t even know how to truly thank you.”

“It’s fine.  Don’t mention it.”  He was gruff, he was scowling—and he was soft.  You could see it clearly in his eyes.  Now that you were out of the dim plane cabin, you could see how his brows had imperceptibly straightened, how his eyes weren’t so much red but a darkened and complicated pink.

“Can I hug you?” you asked quietly, hearing your heart hammering for a variety of reasons that you were too tired to think on.

He didn’t answer, but he uncrossed his arms, holding his hands out to you, the posture as gentle as the pink in his eyes.  You stepped into his embrace eagerly, his larger body engulfing you entirely. 

His heartbeat was strong.  Steady.  Curt, like his words.  His body was all hard angles, all flexed muscles, all sturdy structure and heavy frame.  His cologne smelled faintly of spiced wood, reminding you of summer storms, electricity crackling through a vibrating air.  You took in a deep, deep breath, holding the smell behind your aching diaphragm, behind the small bones of your ribs, inside your tired lungs for as long as he held you.   

You pulled back finally. Reluctantly.

“Thanks,” you repeated, looking up at him and catching the softness in his eyes again, the only part of his body that wasn’t all sharp. 

For a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you.

You didn’t know why.  Just a feeling.  Just the way his grip tightened on your waist, the way his eyes flickered down to your lips, the way the air seemed to buzz, your body answering on your tip-toes. 

But he pulled away, dropping his hands to grab your suitcase handle.

“Got anywhere to be?” he asked.

“Not yet,” you said.  “Why?”

“You should hydrate and eat.  Come on.”

”Wait—”

“Stop complaining and let’s go.”

You smiled, touching his arm as you caught up.  “I was just going to ask your name.”

He glanced at you.  “Bakugou,” he said.  “Katsuki—just call me Katsuki.”

“Okay,” you said, breathless in a way you didn’t mind.

But he didn’t ask your name.  Instead, as you followed him down to luggage retrieval, he asked when your return flight was, and when you found that you were both on the same plane again but not in the same aisle, you saw him check the airline app for any available seats near you.  You thought that it was somehow on brand that he didn’t ask for your name.  You thought this was part of his curtness, part of his clumsiness, part of how his hands were so rough but encompassed yours so warmly, so sweetly.

#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ fandom「 bnha 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ character「 bakugou 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ titled「 breathless 」 #╰【 FILED UNDER … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ novae writes 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ reader「 she/her 」 #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #claustrophobia tw #panic attack tw #anxiety tw #claustrophobia attack tw #dang got another one up? #on a roll #it don't usually happen like this LOL

[berrythefish]

a little something i did a month or two ago and forgot to post

the little context I had of this was that y/n found this random sun plush and informed sun about their discovery. At first sun (and moon) were okay with it but then y/n gave the plush more attention than them so they got jealous lol

Y/N was a little too honest smh

Dont worry they got cuddles later

#fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sun #fnaf sundrop #fnaf moon #fnaf moodrop #y/n #fan art #digital art #art #doodles #comic I guess?? #this all happen when I drew a sun plush lol #they also find a moon plush and sometimes bring it to work but it usually stays in their home #I had a bit more but I don't feel like posting it

[cinnamonsikwate]

chilchuck spends the entirety of his daughters' visit hovering suspiciously between them and a certain dwarf. when it's time for the girls to go home and no proposals have been made, he breathes a sigh of relief — awkward coworker x family member romance route narrowly avoided!

a couple weeks later meijack shows back up unannounced, backpack laden with tools and thigh-high boots looking uncharacteristically spiffy. bewildered and betrayed, chilchuck rounds on a clueless senshi, only freezing mid-swear when meijack interrupts to ask after namari's whereabouts.

the last thing he remembers thinking is, "shit, i forgot about the other dwarf!" before promptly blacking out.

#dungeon meshi #jumping on the 'putting this man in situations' bandwagon #chilchuck tims #meijack chils #namari #will meijack be luckier in love than her father? #this idea came to me like a bolt out of the blue #unfortunately meijack is not namari's type but we'll work with what we have! #rip chilchuck's liver #he can't even go out w his usual drinking buddy bc drinking buddy in question is now the object of his daughter's affections #is namari even aware of what's happening lmao #don't take this too seriously lol #meijack can have a little crush as a treat #calemonsito notes

[inkskinned]

it is all chaos and entropy. the thing is that the chaos and entropy make it beautiful and lovely.

yes, it's true that nature and the universe are uncaring and unspecific, and that is terrifying. i have lived through some of the unfairness - i got born like this, with my body caving into itself, with this ironic love of dance when i sometimes can't stand up for longer than 15 minutes. i am a poet with hands that are slowly shutting down - i can't hold a pen some days. recently i found a dead bird on our front porch. she had no visible injuries. she had just died, the way things die sometimes.

it is also true that nature and the universe are uncaring and unspecific, and that is wonderful. the sheer happenstance that makes rain turn into a rainbow. the impossible coincidence of finding your best friend. i have made so many mistakes and i have let myself down and i have harmed other people by accident. nature moves anyway. on the worst day of my life she delivers me an orange juice sunset, as if she is saying try again tomorrow.

how vast and unknowing the universe! how small we are! isn't that lovely. the universe has given us flowers and harp strings and the shape of clouds. how massive our lives are in comparison to a grasshopper. the world so bright, still undiscovered. even after 30 years of being on this earth, i learned about a new type of animal today: the dhole.

chance echoing in my life like a harmony between two people talking. do you think you and i, living in different worlds but connected through the internet - do you think we've ever seen the same butterfly? they migrate thousands of miles. it's possible, right?

how beautiful the ways we fill the vastness of space. i love that when large amounts of people are applauding in a room, they all start clapping at the same time. i love that the ocean reminds us of our mother's heartbeat. i love that out of all the colors, chlorophyll chose green. i love the coincidences. i love the places where science says i don't know, but it just happens.

"the universe doesn't care about you!" oh, i know. that's okay. i care about the universe. i will put my big stupid heart out into it and watch the universe feast on it. it is not painful. it is strange - the more love you pour into the unfeeling world, the more it feels the world loves you in return. i know it's confirmation bias. i think i'm okay if my proof of kindness is just my own body and my own spirit.

i buried the bird from our porch deep in the woods. that same day, an old friend reaches out to me and says i miss you. wherever you go, no matter how bad it gets - you try to do good.

#writeblr #warm up #i can't write rn but i have SO much words in here bc im reading the chorus of dragons books #(just started book 4) #and this woman's writing is just LIVING in my brain. let me out!!! #(i read roughly like 2-4 books a week usually bc i go on long walks with my dog but when a book is REALLY good like. it eats my life. ) #anyway ...... so like here's a story that idk i've tried to explain to other people as being wild #but maybe im the only one who thinks it is wild??? #so i play pokemon go (i just started in jan) bc i love pokemon and as i have mentioned i walk goblin for like an hour in the morning #and i don't like a lot of fitness trackers due to the fact it makes me .sad. but i also wanted the little digital rewards. enter pokemon go #anyway so they make you make friends to complete quests. so i used a reddit thread. i do not usually use reddit. i don't have an acct #i lurked. i just googled like ''pokemon go reddit '' and randomly added a bunch of numbers #i was on that page for all of 15 minutes. there are THOUSANDS of responses on that page. #here's what's wild: in that group of people. even though i am not on reddit and it was one random event once #it turns out one of those people lives in the town i live in. or at least very close. i only know this because #when we send each other gifts. it's from the same freaking area. #i can't ask them to meet up bc pokemon go doesn't have a messaging app lol but like . what are the fucking chances that #a random person posts in a random reddit thread and HAPPENS to get added by someone ELSE from their SAME TOWN #who by pure fucking CHANCE is ALSO playing pokemon go and looking for friends #i googled it there's only 42000 people in my broad region. the .......... smallness ! of the world!!!

[icewindandboringhorror]

Some (late) holiday photos of the boye~!

#cats #holiday #OUGHH....... barely could even get these edited and posted... my mysterious sickness flare up has been sooo bad the past few #days.. I didn't even go to the usual obligatory family christmas I was supposed to attend (!!! health issue/medical mention in tags below) #My stomach issues basically put me in a constant state of uncontrollable shivering/body shaking + nausea + sometimes rapid heart #rate. and when it happens at night that makes it like.. nearly impossible to sleep when you're violently shaking + you can feel your heart #so strong + you keep having to run to the bathroom every 5 minute to cough and gag #and throw up and so on and so forth. etc. So I went like 40 hours without any sleep almost for christmas eve and all of christmas day #last night I finally got maybe 2 hours of sleep in between the nausea and shaking and stuff. and then today I was able to get a few #hours of sleep in the afternoon. Today I tried taking an anxiety mediciation a doctor gave me in case it was anxiety related (it's apparent #ly used to relax people and works in the moment. rather than like Anxiety Mediciation that you have to take for weeks to see any effect #because I think this isn't actually acting on your brain chemistry it's judt like..a mild sedative or something.) but all that did was make #me dizzy and sweaty lol. I;m glad I slept a little but I'm just still frustrated that I don't feel normal. I started having these #'episodes' (with the stomach issues + shaking + heartrate + nausea etc.) like at the end of october. And usually it will happen for like a #few hours at a time. or i'll lose sleep one day and then be fine the next. but this has been like nearly 3 days of feeling weird. so is #getting kind of annoying... It's funny too because I was so so productive like.. literally the few days before. I was feeling much better #and I was working on my game and blah blah. But then.. random issue flare up out of nowhere of course.. yaayy.... happy holidays to meee lo #I did at least see two random ducks outside of my window in the yard area for christmas. and havent seen them since. So it's like.. hrmm.. #pacing around my room nauseous and shakings and etc. but at least... hello.. two little ducks placed there just for me :3c #Now I get anxiety every night which I'm sure doesn't help/could exacerbate whatever underlying genuinely physical issues exist. But after #like 2 nights of 'I spend the night sleepless and incredibly uncomfortable just sitting in the dark sick' then bedtime is like.. dread... #I even was trying slapping myself in the face in desperation to see if somehow that could shock my body out of whatever the hell it was #doing lol.. up at 3am holding ice cubes in my hand and hitting myself in the head and crying from exhaustion and thowing up.. literally #ridiculous cartoon character feeling... AAANYWAY!!! At least I have baby boy pictures. and I have lots of doctors appointments so hopefully #whatever the issue is can be sorted out at some point. I don't know much about ibs but hopefully maybe something like that that I could pos #ibly take medication for and not something more seirous or anything. Maybe there's a food I'm secretly intolerant to or whatever. #And I did at least post a sims holday video actually timed for the holidays so that's something. I havent been productive really latrely #though obviously.. I can't even play games or small tasks when in that state since I'm just SO physically uncomfortable. Nausea and heart #stuff are THE hardest physical sensations to ignore.. BUT yeah... hoping I shall sleep at all tonight. hopeing to get like 3 productive #things done.. at some point... at least SOMETHING... lol..... *** *** ***

[liquidstar]

How is tumblr going to ban porn and then show me ads where two triceratops are straight up having sex

#frankly these mobile game ads have also gotten just kinda disgusting and i feel like there needs to be regulations on them #i don't mean the dino fuck one it's not graphic but like #all the ones about those app women getting abused are out of hand like i keep seeing one where a guy cuts off a his wifes boob??? #or where a lady is lactating or pissing herself or shitting herself #or even ones that imply straight up sa. like. #i understand. it's because it's shocking and drives engagement and ppl to make YouTube videos going woooaa weird ads but. #like. i don't wanna talk too much about them bc i don't wanna feed into what makes it effective but i just feel like #there needs to be somekinda standards here. the same way you can't just show whatever on tv advertisements #bc malicious advertising is an issue and there SHOULD be limitations to make sure this doesn't happen #not just bc it's gross but because it's underhanded and also false advertising! that stuff is straight up not in the app lol #it's usually just candy crush w extra steps #tbh im surprised no one has capitalized on actually making a fucked up gross game like that since there's clearly an audience #but still. annoying. sick of seeing them

[emblazons]

"I think it would be easier if we were a team."

Day Five of @bylerweek2023 - Secret Identities aka - the Modern!Byler + DnD AU no one asked for

The details for their character sheets came from here + here, though only Mike's is confirmed secondary media. The details + story behind these versions of byler under the cut!

The Secret

The Cleric (Will) & The Paladin (Mike) have been playing digital campaigns together for nearly five years now, after Mike‘s then-newfound investment in Critical Role inspired him to hunt for an online DnD game to play for himself.

Inseparable on the pixelated battlefield, their half a decade of campaigning together has slowly turned them into the best of (digital) friends, as they’ve shared their deepest secrets in the anonymous-but-meaningful way you can only online. From Will admitting that his main concern even outside being ridiculed for his sexuality is healing from childhood PTSD to Mike admitting that his picture-perfect family hates his interests and would never accept that he likes guys, both of them have learned to defer to each other in and out of campaigns—they have grown deeply fond of each other through their characters’ adventures…and chats that mean more to both of them than they would dare admit aloud.

Even so, all the Cleric and the Paladin really know about each other on a practical level is that they’re both 20 this year, are both in college now, and that they both come from the Midwest—though they do hope to meet one day if it ever makes sense.

There really is nothing like a friend who gets to see the sides of you you’re not allowed to show in any other space—and neither of them wants to live their entire lives without someone who treats them as well as their longtime D&D companion.

The Identities

Mike Wheeler and Will Byers have been in each other’s orbit since elementary school in Hawkins, though Will’s been pretty distant about keeping tabs on Mike since he dated (and subsequently broke up) with his sister El during freshman year. Mike always enjoyed the time he spent with Will and could tell that Will felt the same, though Mike knew from the second he broke up with El that Will’s love for his family was going to take precedence over their mutual interest in the same (nerdy) things—the same way it did for his sister Nancy when she broke up with Will’s brother, Jonathan, when they went to college.

It’s been years since that happened now, though—and the last time Mike spoke to Will was when they gave each other a friendly hug goodbye the day of high school graduation. Now well into his 3rd year of college, Mike only knows that Will goes to IU just like he does…but on a campus of over 30,000 people and as an English major to Will’s Visual Arts, it’s not like they see each other.

Even so, time away from his exacting family has made Mike more comfortable, and he has slowly realized that it’s time to branch out of his solely hypothetical “rebellious” spaces and into meeting real people who share his interests—to fully embrace is love of DnD in real life to learn the fine art of figurine painting, soak up all the wisdom to be found in classic printed dungeon master guides, and experience the ruckus of a well-strategized in-person campaign. That’s why, on one rainy Friday night in March, he wanders into the Hellfire Club—the on-campus DnD group he’s heard of but never been brave enough to join.

Given his knowledge of Will from all those years ago, seeing the guy he grew up with sitting next to him for Eddie Munson’s grungy basement campaign wasn’t all that much of a surprise, actually. What was a surprise was what happened when he looked down at the table in front of the boy next to him….only to see “Will the Wise” at the top of Will Byers character sheet, plain as day.

tl;dr - you're 20, and your long-time online crush bestie who knows all your secrets turns out to be the brother of the girl you dated for five seconds at 14. Chaos ensues.

#bylerweek2023 #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #tbh it this was the most confusing prompt for me in this whole week… I didn’t know what I was going to do. And THIS happened #design forward #SO THIS IS NOTHING LIKE MY USUAL STUFF #these gifs are literally my first ever attempt at blending images? #the clips for the dnd characters deadass came from the baulders gate character builder omg #and the clips of the boys are from GQ interviews #it’s def not my usual gif style or process BUT #but I enjoyed it! and thanks to Bre (as always) for hearing me talk this whole idea out lmaooo #as for the whole plot that went along with me thinking out 'secret identities' #...I have no reasoning other than it got away from me lol #I don't write fic but HELL if I will not write out a whole story like a summary or script treatment LMAO #I might try my hand on expanding it one day #but for now its just this. lol #stranger things #the me tag #my gifs #st writing #byleredit #tuserrae

[bleaksqueak]

Woah dang, waking up to 99+ notifs on tumblr almost always means that an old Homestuck piece is going around again... imagine my delighted surprise to see it was all notifs about Soli! That was a great thing to wake up to. Felt an actual flutter in my chest. Thank you so much, everyone! And apologies for how Elias' hair keeps subtly changing. You always kind of figure out exactly how a character looks and how to draw them as you go along with sequential art. It, funny enough, largely comes from figuring out their acting (so lots and lots of different angles and features that need to shift/change slightly to carry the weight of looking like they should feel, for lack of a better way to describe it ) At any rate, glad to see people are excited for chapter 3! next update will be next week, and will be a two page spread.

#solivaga #yackin #it isn't the first time by a long shot that I've woken up to see my inbox full of soli notifs #but that usually only happens when I'm actively updating the comic or have posted a new big fancy illustration #that dies down considerably ofc when we're at a between chapter pause because old fandom work has the power to stay searchably relevant #and it's probably common for comic authors to worry that if they don't get back to updating ASAP they'll come back to no audience #so coming back with the main storyline of chapter 3 and a couple of preview snippets filling my notifs for this project that I love so much #definitely made me happy #there's just a joy in sharing something important to you and introducing characters and their stories to others #ofc I say all of this and have been going through my askbox like an absolute slug lol #if I could choose the world's most niche and specific superpower I would ask to split my creative attention when i'm really deep in it #but my brain demands to Live in the Scene when writing it or drawing very acting-heavy or important scenes #and I become Slug #Rat slug #new animal for the veil

[rollercoasterwords]

hi! thank you for the kind words, i'm happy you're enjoying the fic. but i also want to use this message as an opportunity to talk about something/set a boundary that i haven't really known how to discuss, and i've blocked out your name because even though i'm not angry or upset with you, i want to make sure i'm not sending any hate back your way. 

i know that this message is well-intentioned, and i know you likely think it's nothing but a compliment to ask me to write more--after all, you're only asking me to write more because you enjoy the story so much! shouldn't that be a nice thing for me to hear? 

and like. i think that's why this is difficult for me to talk about. i don't want to come across as ungrateful or overly sensitive or like i don't appreciate the compliments, because i do. but at the same time, hearing someone say, "please write more of this fic for me, i love your writing so much!" is still hearing someone say "please write more of this fic for me!" like. 300,000 words is incredibly long. most novels are between 70k-100k words. a 300k word book usually takes years to write--years, and hundreds of hours of labor. maybe you chose that number randomly, or you're exaggerating for emphasis; but no matter how nicely you're phrasing it or how facetious you're being, ultimately this sort of message still puts pressure on me to produce a massive amount of writing in a short period of time. and even if you meant it as a compliment, it doesn't feel nice to me. being pressured to churn out hundreds of thousands of words makes me feel as though i'm being seen as a content-creation machine for the entertainment of others, and i don't like that. writing is a labor of love for me, but it is still labor--hours of time and effort that i'm putting into these works which i share for free, with no expectations of anything in return except maybe a few kind words from those who feel like reaching out. when i get messages or comments like this pushing me to write more, to write faster, it makes me feel as though my time and labor are not respected at all; as if there's absolutely no consideration for the amount of effort it takes to write the stories. which, again, makes me feel like i'm being viewed as some sort of fic-writing machine that can just pump out hundreds of thousands of words on demand for others' entertainment.

and none of this is helped by the tongue-in-cheek comment about how you're "suffering" waiting for updates. again, i understand that this was well-intended and maybe even a playful exaggeration that's supposed to be complimentary. but there are ways to tell me you enjoy my writing and eagerly wait for updates without telling me how much you dislike waiting between chapters. posting once a week is already a difficult schedule for me to maintain, and it's entirely possible that i'll need to take another break in the future or skip a week or something. i've been very clear about the fact that my update schedule is subject to change since i started writing the fic; that's just part of reading a wip. but when i get messages or comments like these with people telling me how they don't like waiting for updates, or comments directly asking me to post more than once a week, or--back when i did take a break--comments begging me not to take a break, it all adds together and builds up and creates this pressure to write more, write faster, post the new ch now now now. if you were the only person making this type of comment, it probably wouldn't bother me and i'd just respond and go "thanks lol" and move on. but the problem is that you aren't the only one--since more people have started reading the fic, i've consistently been getting comments like these, where the backhanded pressure to write more or write faster is couched in compliments. it's just so hard to wait for updates because i love your writing so much! i just want you to write more and post now and write faster because i love your writing so much! i know it's all well-intended, but none of it makes me feel good. it just makes me feel a mounting pressure to produce produce produce.

i feel like there are so many conversations happening in this fandom about how we need to treat writers better, where people go "the fandom is so shitty" and everyone goes "yeah!" but no one ever thinks they're part of the problem. and i think it's because everyone thinks the problem is like...really blatantly rude and entitled messages. and like, i get those too--people telling me they don't like a certain characterization and asking me to rewrite the fic; people repeatedly demanding that i write a certain fic for them; people just outright shitting on things i've written because they don't like it and for some reason think i want to know that. but none of that is super common. what is super common is the steady stream of comments and messages like this one, where they are so well-intended and don't see anything wrong with what they're saying because they think they're giving me a compliment. but all these "compliments" build up and create this pressure that hangs over my head to be constantly producing and writing, which is ultimately what leads to burnout and also makes me feel like i'm not being seen as a person so much as a machine. 

so like. idk. i'm not gonna try to speak for every writer in the fandom; maybe there are people out there who do appreciate this kind of message, who feel like it motivates them to write. but for me, i want to make it clear: i really don't appreciate being asked to write more or write faster or to write a certain trope/ship/etc; i am not a waiter taking your order at a restaurant. writing fic is not a service i'm providing for you that you pay me for in comments or kudos or messages or any sort of attention, because i am not writing for that attention in the first place. so when it comes to interacting with me, i'd ask that you reevaluate the way you give compliments and think about what sort of pressure you're putting on me, regardless of how well-intentioned your message is. again, no hard feelings towards you--like i said, this message probably wouldn't even register as pressuring to me if not for the fact that i get so many little comments like it, all from equally well-intentioned people who think they're just giving a compliment, all of which builds up together. 

anyway. all that being said. to answer your question: the fic will likely be four parts, not three as i originally intended. it will probably end up somewhere between 100-200k words based on the fact that we're already at 80k and i've only just started part iii, but i am not going to put pressure on myself to write a certain amount of words or hit a certain length. i'm just going to write what i want to write when i want to write, and share it as i want to share it. i'm happy to have you along if you want to be here, but if the cliffhangers or waiting for updates becomes too unenjoyable for you then there's no pressure for you to stay, yknow? no hard feelings on my end either way :•)

#have been talking w a few friends abt this recently and just. felt like it was getting to a point where i need 2 set a boundary lol #like again don't want to come across as ungrateful bc i DO appreciate the kind words and i love talking abt my writing w people #but those kind words and conversation are not the reason i write in the first place. i write in the first place purely for the fun + joy #of writing a story that i want to read #so as much as i appreciate the compliments etc #people being nice to me about my writing does not then entitle those people to make requests or demands about the way i write #yknow? #feel like its hard to phrase this without sounding cunty lol but like. it is simply the truth #anyway. like i said no hard feelings towards the person who sent this message truly #i just picked this as an opportunity to respond to allll the comments + messages like it #might put a note at the end of the next ch or something bc this type of thing happens in the comments moreso than tumblr messages #which is part of why i usually just ignore and move on but. it builds up guys #and it's only been increasing so. feel like i need to be firm abt setting expectations etc #ask #wfrau #ranting and raving

[fizpup]

people seem to really like when I've pony-fied characters from other media, any requests?

#they're pretty fun to do ngl #although I some people don't like that I usually don't give cutie marks. but it's hard to define someone's life by an image!! (usually) #I've had the 2003 strawberry shortcake gang on the backburner for my bestie for a while so babe if you're reading this it WILL happen lol #eventually #text #delete later #no live action requests pls tho

[restlessthio]

An idea for a print, or maybe keychains/acrylic charms =) (which would y’all rather have??)

I rewatched a bunch of Conan eps (and made my parents watch it- they loved it!) and I really like how much Heiji helps out ☺️

#detective conan #shinichi kudo #hattori heiji #conan edogawa #haibara ai #miyano shiho #merch idea #I had an AU once that I never posted anywhere #where shinichi didn't turn into conan. instead they split #but shinichi's health took a sharp decline from the split #(inspired by how whenever conan turns back into shinichi he's usually unwell lol) #so shinichi stays in hiding (also gotta hide from the black org) and is legit on the phone with conan or Ran #conan is also shinichi technically of course #but he's equally eager to Not be a kid anymore obviously #and shinichi would like to be able to run more than 2 blocks without needing to lay down #aaaand of course this happens with shiho/Ai as well! #thoug shiho is in better health for some reason #their guess is that it might affect genders difference #or it's just bc some people have side effects and others don't

[ink--theory]

it hasn't been an hour since I got back home and i'm already super close to falling asleep after sketching out this little lmao

#this is what happens when you put a bit too much effort on a piece of art again instead of your usual sketches or shitposts lol #anyway i'm bouta go eat #if you don't hear from me in like...an hour assume I mimimi my ass to bed #wip #also can you guess what i'm redrawing :3c

[sisterdivinium]

Mother Superion barely had time to assess the large coat, the expensive hat and the aviator sunglasses all bunched up together into a messy pile located at the edge of her own desk when Jillian noticed her entrance.

“You’re alone?” She asked by way of greeting, peeping behind the nun’s back to make sure. “We should best close the door.”

“And ciao to you too, dottoressa,” Superion replied dryly, watching as Jillian went on to lock them in after looking outside for any other nuns strolling in the corridor.

“You’ll understand my bluntness in a second.” Jillian returned to her companion, gave her an apologetic peck on the lips and soon produced a magazine which she put into Superion’s hands. “You should take a look at this.”

It was a thin little rag, the sort that printed more low-quality paparazzi pictures than it did any sort of meaningful text—when there were any words to go along with the images, typos and grammatical mistakes abounded throughout the extravagant theories “explaining” the ins and outs of the love lives of all sorts and ranks of celebrities, from international movie stars to barely significant internet phenomena boasting of a couple thousand followers online.

Mother Superion might have wondered how and why a woman such as Jillian Salvius would ever have any such dreck in her possession had she not at once recognised what the low-quality paparazzi photograph chosen for that particular issue’s cover revealed: it was an aerial shot, likely the product of a snooping drone, which had captured an inner patio of Jillian’s house—and both of them, Jillian and Mother Superion herself, featured in it, standing suspiciously close together as the nun’s hand stroked the renowned scientist’s cheek.

“This has been out for only some two hours and it is making a hell of a lot of noise already. My PR staff are going completely mad. ArqTech’s social media accounts are being bombarded with either accusations of hypocrisy on my part, secretly seducing the church in the background while fighting it in public, or celebratory messages about ‘crushing the patriarchy of a decadent institution’ through ‘full contact sisterhood’ or something like it. Dozens of extremely suggestive emojis are sprinkled throughout in both kinds.”

Jillian said all this with a wealth of gestures, drawing abstract, nervous shapes in the air, squinting her eyes at every word, as if they stung her tongue with each absurd syllable that escaped her lips.

Suzanne looked down at the magazine again, flipping through some of its pages. A couple more of blurry or pixelated images where she and Jillian could barely be made out adorned a page with a single column of text in a large font over a red background that would make anyone’s eyes water; she couldn’t read the speculation contained therein.

She could likewise not speak her mind on the matter, as Jillian continued her tirade.

“And there’s more, of course there’s more. I regret to inform you that you and I have been…" She grimaced. “Blorbofied. And please don’t ask me how I know that word.”

Mother Superion raised an inquisitive, insistent eyebrow nonetheless. Jillian sighed and submitted.

“… Camila,” she admitted.

The nun pinched the bridge of her nose.

“But what I mean to say is that the internet is simply abuzz with this. We’re being shipped. People are writing fanfiction about us. I don’t know if you know, but that’s when they tell stories—”

“I know what that means, Jillian.”

Catching her off-guard, Suzanne was the one moved to confess by another eyebrow raised high.

“Well, Xena fanfiction didn’t write itself in the nineties, you know.”

Jillian remained speechless for a few seconds more as she attempted to process the information of how the woman standing in front of her, who she had seen kill scores of malevolent men as well as writhe beneath her in pleasure, who wore a habit and a veil and prayed to God every day, was the same person who would write Xena fanfiction in the late nineties and post them on the internet—some of which might still be out there, somewhere.

On second thought, the whole killing men part did make quite a good deal of sense…

“If this has been out for only two hours, how are these people writing stories already?” Suzanne asked, rescuing her from her trance.

Jillian shook her head slightly, as if to dispel the thought of a young Suzanne writing stories of dubious merit and intentions in some corner of the convent when not absorbed by training.

“I don’t know. I haven’t read any—nor will I—but they even came up with a name. They’re calling us ‘doctor superion’.

The look she received as a reply was impenetrable. Jillian couldn’t tell whether Mother Superion despised it or was somehow amused by it.

“But that’s beside the point,” Jillian went on, rather exasperated at the possibilities, “because if I’m getting hell over this, what can it mean for you?”

She reached out to Suzanne’s hands, her touch scared, her eyes pleading.

“Can the Vatican take any sort of action against you? Have I put you in trouble again?”

“This will pass,” Suzanne said to comfort her, cupping her cheek. “You’re talking about the Catholic church. They didn’t even believe women could have any kind of sex for the longest time. They won’t read into a bad picture where I’m doing nothing more apart from touching your face.”

“And the gossip? The articles are multiplying online, the stories—”

“How many stories has the Church survived?”

“Suzanne, don’t fault me for saying this, but I don’t give a fuck about the Church surviving anything—it’s you I’m worried about. If my investors drop out now, I can always find others if I need to, but if they excommunicate you and tear you from the girls—”

“Jillian. I’ve been here for about twenty years. I’ve done worse than touch rich ‘heretic’ women’s faces and they know it. You know it,” she said, looking pointedly at her. “Stop worrying.”

The scientist relaxed, if somewhat against her will. She frowned soon after, however.

“… What do you mean by ‘worse’? How many other ‘worse’ things were you involved with?”

“… A conversation for another day. I think doctor superion has given you enough strong emotions for the time being.”

Jillian laughed despite herself. Mother Superion smiled seeing her unwind.

“I won’t hear the end of this anytime soon,” the owner of ArqTech pondered.

“Hence the detective disguise in coming here when it’s thirty degrees Celsius outside?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to unwittingly inspire any more fanfics than are already being written, would I? They’d have a field day with it, no doubt… But are you very sure you won’t suffer any repercussions for this?”

Suzanne kissed her.

Jillian attempted to repeat her question, but she found that kissing Suzanne back was quite a balm to her burdened heart—after all, if there were consequences to face either way, might as well deserve them in full.

When they parted to catch their breath, Mother Superion offered her an idea.

“We can say you’ve had a revelation through me, a miracle conversion. Even the Vatican will be glad to hear of it, for once.”

“Excuse you, but I have known what I liked since very early on. You wouldn’t be able to convert me to anything,” Jillian replied with a smirk. She leaned in to kiss Suzanne again, but stopped short thanks to a thought. “Hold on. Did you already have a contingency plan at the ready in case anything like this should happen?”

Mother Superion shrugged lightly.

“I told you. Worse things. In this line of work, it’s always best to look ahead of yourself.”

“Well, I might just run with your version, then. If only to calm these people down for a time.”

“The writers won’t stop.”

“I know. They might go at it even more excitedly. But the public image of the company might still be salvaged.”

“I pray it will. You’re invited to service if you want to show off just how genuine your new quest for God is,” Superion provoked her.

“Please don’t make me,” Jillian said with a laugh, pulling her closer. “I think I prefer private prayer to this whole blasphemer-to-devoted-choirgirl-overnight AU.”

Suzanne chuckled and kissed her again, throwing the gossip magazine away.

“See? Don’t worry about the others. We can write our own story all by ourselves…”

#doctor superion #warrior nun #jillian salvius #mother superion #this is what happens when you decide to write while sleep deprived #i don't usually write comedy but when i do it is utterly nonsensical lol #in earnestness i confess comedy isn't my strong suit. i think aristotle is right when he says it is based on characters “worse than us” #(while tragedy is about characters “better than us”) #and that usually means dumbing down and exaggerating some character traits which might risk losing their voice in the process #but i thought oh to hell with it -- it's not like i'll do this often anyway #and maybe someone might have a laugh the way i did when this came to me as i washed the dishes #narratives and similar

[brittlebutch]

Desperately trying to make sense of Alex's motivations in Season Two and you know, I do eventually have to wonder if maybe Alex wasn't actually lying in the majority of those tapes.

Like, we tend to assume that Alex's motivations have been a consistent throughline since the college years, but do we actually know that that's the case? Do we know for sure that Alex was acting in deliberate, calculated ways in 2006; or could it be that he's telling the Truth on those olds tapes when he says he's blacking out and can't remember what's happening to anyone? After all, if we're assuming that Season 2 Alex's motivations are the exact same as his motives in Season 3, then it doesn't make any sense at all that he spend months working with Jay to try to find Amy; Season 3 Alex would have attempted to kill Jay like, on sight just to get things over with as quickly as possible and contain the spread of contamination as best as he could.

But, maybe, if Alex really had been separated from Amy after the events of the 04-04-10 tape, and if he really doesn't know where she is, then maybe that could make things start to make more sense. Maybe he really had been watching Jay's channel, and seeing Jay start going through the same things he went through in college without things devolving into violence and disappearances, and wondered if things maybe could play out differently this time. Maybe he really did send that tape to Jay to ask him for help, maybe he really was just trying to find Amy.

But then, instead of actually being helpful, Jay makes it extremely clear that he's a lot more interested in stalking Alex than he is in finding Amy. Alex asked for help, and instead there's a bunch of masked dudes on Jay's heels that keep attacking him, Jay is breaking into his house, stealing his things, leading the Operator right to him all over again, keeps trying to get other people (namely: Jessica -- if Alex is being honest when he says that his call reassuring her that Amy had been found was an effort to make Sure she stayed away from everything that was happening) involved; and instead of anything getting better, instead of anyone finding Amy, things are just getting worse all over again.

It's not until after the incident at the tunnel that things seem to start rapidly devolving. Rather than a calculated attempt to finally follow through with his need to curb the spread of contamination, this is very clearly an outburst of rage and terror. Alex's "I told you not to follow me" line in conjunction with Jay speculating that Alex didn't know who that guy was, to me, pretty firmly seems to speak to Alex having mistaken that stranger for Jay. From his point of view, Alex knows that Jay and totheark know where he live, have broken in before, he suspects that Jay stole a key to make it easier to get into his house, and he's been followed on the daily for months -- Alex is sitting at the tunnel because he doesn't know where else he can go without being constantly surveilled, hunted, and assaulted. And instead of getting a moment by himself to breathe, Jay followed him out there all over again (it feels like Alex looks directly at the camera in Jay's footage of him from this day; he knew for a fact that Jay was there), and then to make matters worse now 'Jay' won't even keep his distance anymore.

So Alex lashes out. And it's not until afterwards that he looks down and finally recognizes that this wasn't Jay -- it was someone completely innocent. Things have finally reached the low point he was at in college all over again; maybe even worse this time. If Alex doesn't remember attacking anyone in college, but he was at least partially conscious of it this time, then things have reached an entirely new rock bottom, they've reached an absolute point of no return.

He has no idea what happened to Amy, and he's spent months trying to find her with no hint of where she could be; he doesn't know where Jay actually is or what additional trouble he could be causing at this point; he does know that now innocent people are getting caught in the crossfire (in regards to the stranger in the tunnel, and also Jessica now that Jay has her phone number, and the untold number of people Jay got involved when he started posting videos to the Marble Hornets channel); things are spiraling out of control and there's no one left to ask for help. The situation isn't getting better, it's getting worse; things aren't getting easier to handle, they're just getting more out of hand; the negative impact is spreading and who knows how much further it can still go?

So, Alex decides to go scorched earth. He disfigures the body with the rock either to hide evidence or to make sure the guy would actually stay dead and not just get back up to start his own cycle of contamination in a few years. He tries to give Jay one last chance to back off, and Jay instead admits he's been talking to Jessica, acts obstinate and lies about not having Alex's spare key, and then breaks into Alex's house a second time (minimum). If Alex doesn't stop him now, who will? Alex met with Jay planning to kill the others, and then himself, so he could put a stop to this once and for all and keep things from getting any worse than they already were.

Maybe it makes a lot more sense if, rather than being a strangely incomprehensible detour on what should have been a straight path, the events of Season Two were the breaking point that put Alex on that path to begin with.

#N posts stuff #idk!!! I've been thinking a lot lately about the tendency to take Characters at Face Value; when they tell us things we tend to #automatically believe them despite what evidence we might have to the contrary. & like when it comes to deciphering what #went down during the college film project it's mostly totheark that posits that Alex was Definitely Lying and Definitely Acting on Purpose #(even Jay is largely ambivalent - wondering which way it leans and basically saying it could go either way) #but. do we KNOW that they know that? Do we Know that they're Right when they claim that? Or are they just Assuming based off #of their own rage and animosity towards Alex due to what happened? Do we Know for Sure that Alex Was Lying in s1? #i don't know if we do!! And so without Knowing that for sure; how can we speak to Alex's motivations in season one OR season two? #now TO BE CLEAR: I am not saying this in an attempt to claim that Alex is somehow completely innocent of all guilt and that like. #Jay is the 'Real Antagonist' of the series - not at all my intention. this is just More of my usual 'look. Everyone in this series is #all kinds of Morally Grey; no recurring character in this series is free of guilt they ALL have unique fatal flaws & trends towards #antagonism that makes things worse and dooms them all' shtick - a la 'everyone Thinks they're doing the Right Thing but No One Is' #BUT i Am wondering if this Does help to like. clear up some of the ambiguity/uncertainty of Season Two - and even Season One - and #lets the series as a whole read a little bit clearer? idk i know that Jay does Claim to think that Alex was bullshitting him #the whole time & was Actually planning on tying up loose ends the whole time but AGAIN it doesn't make Sense he'd wait so long #idk - Am i making sense? does any of this track? i'm trying to figure it out; i am open to comments on the subject to help #i haven't rewatched season 3 yet today and so maybe there's stuff in there that contradicts this whole theory lmao but i'm taking a break #and just posting this anyway; we'll see what happens lol #marble hornets #mh lb

[icewindandboringhorror]

reminders of the passage of time moodeboard

#my blog is in his last year of middle school. he'll be off to high school next year (at least I think so..? 13 yrs old is usually 8th grade #at least from my experience. 9th graders are usually 14. 10th are 15. etc. etc. and then you're in 12th grade #and graduate high school usually 17yrs old.) ANYWAY.. wow he is so ancient.. #maybe he's still in a preteeny early teen emo phase or something.. I hope he gets some black and white striped armwarmers and black eyeline #r for his birthday. Maybe an MP3 player of course. Though because I don't really like most alternative music and he is my son he's actually #not allowed to listen to metal or pop punk or emo rock whatever stuff. I open the mp3 player and pre-stock it with only #disco and funk and classical music. he can have a little chiptune or techno stuff as a treat (sometimes emo adjacent maybe more #scene. I think a lot of scene kids were into that more.. emo's weird eccentric brother)) #Also he starts taking iron pills his 13th birthday because he's probably incredibly anemic just like me #so on and so forth and et cetera (I'm just being silly.. I am not pro-controlling your children down to whatmusic they #listen to or etc.etc. lol) #THOUGH I love that it's in january... january is one of my favorite months if not my favorite. yeeaaay #just such a nice cool month. I like that it's the start of the year mostly and that it's sometimes snowy here. Like where I live nov - dec #isnt really actually snowy?? You always associate those winter Months with snow but I think snow happens later on this coast #so it's more like Jan - March or even april sometimes. Though that may just be climate change lol.. But it's cool that Jan is winter AND #ACTUALLY snowy. plus the Beginning Of Year vibes and energy.. hrm... nice nice.. ANYWAY #AND this is not even my first tumblr blog. I had a different one before it I think.. #evviilll to be on one website for so long lol.. Very thankful that most websites I used to use as a 10 year old or whatever #are now defunct. There's something weird about how humans are just creating endless streams of words and pictures and all of this stuff #and it just goes out into the void and stays there long after the person themselves has forgotten it. not even like 'oh no what if i said #something bad!!' but more just the general sense of.. people create so much more ideas than they can actually hold in their heads. nobody #remembers exactly word for word every post they've ever made or etc. It's like parts of yourself that you've externalized and then fade awa #from you but they're still you but they're not so you just have little snapshots of yourself in time floating around entirely unbenknownst #to you. like making clones of yourself and then forgetting you did so but every once in a while going 'shit... there's clones out there.. #of me and I don't even have track or awareness of them anymore.. what an odd concept..' etc. not EXACTLY like that ghbj..you know what I me #n.. or maybe you dont.. hrmm... ANYWAY #I am just now slightly recovering from my most recent mysterious illness spell and etc. so I would like to post more again and mAYBE even #do a costume if I'm being ambitious.. but after so many times of being randomly stricken by problems I'm now fearful of ever being too #hopeful lol.. always like 'I would like to go to the grocery store tomorrow! .... MAYBE.. if i CAN.. possibly... NOT getting my hopes up'. #etc. etc. etc. every statement has a caveat and a backup plan and so on and so forth and such is life.. anyway. happy birthday evil tumblr

[xenoshadow13]

Hey followers & moots, I have a little favor to ask of y'all! So see this dork of mine? If it's not too much trouble, could y'all draw him out in y'all style? Just really would like to see how Zephyr would look in other folks' art styles ok lol.

Oh and art credit goes to Tanaka (@/TNKFNF on Twitter) & Lucks (@luckstergal), with the former having drawn this out while the latter colored it.

#Personal Post #DTIYS #draw this in your style fun #Saw some other folks do this here & on Twitter and well I've always been curious how would other folks draw this dork of mine #so I figure hey I might as well give this a shot and see how it goes lol #Oh and btw I feel I should mention that Zephyr does have the usual five fingers like everyone else #or four fingers and a thumb for those who don't consider the thumb as a finger #but yeah I promise that Zephyr does have the usual that everyone generally has lol #Tanaka just happens to be one of those folks who tend to draw characters with one less digit to their hands for some reason lol #Oh and this should go without saying but this is all just for fun. If y'all don't wanna do this then that's perfectly ok